Do You Believe in Monsters?
by Superagaentv
Summary: Written for the Divination class, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy
1. Those Early Years

**Task: Write about a character asking questions (out of worry, nervousness, guilt - anything) to a mirror or any reflective surface. Think of it like when someone might be questioning aspects of their life, and they find themselves looking in a mirror whilst questioning.**

 **Gringotts Prompt Bank;**

 **Nouns; Affection, allure, appeal, assignment, bathroom, boy, blonde, cheek, charm, class, eyes, face**

 **Names; Castor (one of the divine twins), Magnus (means great), Guinevere (white ghost), Meliae (Nymphs of honey the ash tree), Aetna (goddess of the volcanic Mount Etna), Myles (king of Latonia)**

 **Secret Diary of a Call Girl; "I couldn't bare it if my parent's found out.", (word) Professor),"You knew my name before I told you.", (word) pleasure, "I'm unpredictable like that." , "If you ask them first, ninety percent of the time they'll say no.", (word) possessive, "You know me, I never play by the rules."**

 **Miranda; 3. (plot/action) Woman being mistaken for a man, (word) elegant, (word) Impress, (word) antisocial, (word) sensible, (dialogue) "Someone please marry my daughter. I'm not asking for money I'm literally giving her away.", (word) busty, (word) shock**

 **Various prompts (Hollywood); "I've always had a thing for blondes."**

 **Quotes, 100 Great Literature Prompts; "We need never be ashamed of our tears." – Charles Dickens, Great Expectations, "I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents." – John Steinbeck, East of Eden**

* * *

 _ **First year**_

"Alphard Black."

"Slytherin!"

"Olive Hornby."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Radagast Lestrange."

"Slytherin."

"Tessie Prewett."

"Gryffindor!"

"Alexander Zabini."

"Hufflepuff."

"Tom Riddle." The witch called out, her eyes flickering up from the parchment. A tall boy strode forward, full of confidence, sitting on the stool in an elegant fashion. As the hat was lowered onto the boy's head, he locked eyes with a blonde girl in the crowd; surprising himself and making the hat chuckle.

"Slytherin!"

The far table cheered as the boy walked over, a grin spreading over his features, meanwhile the next name was being read.

"Alistair Montgomery."

"Hufflepuff!"

As student after student was called, the little girl with whom Tom had made eye contact made a point of not looking over to the Slytherin table. It was if she could feel someone watching her.

"Do you know who she is?" Tom asked, turning to another first year.

"Who?" The boy asked, and Tom pointed to her in the crowd of students that were left. "Don't know."

"Rule number one," An older Slytherin commented, leaning on the boy; "If they aren't in Slytherin, they aren't worth it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Tom mused, offering his hand. "Tom Riddle."

"Castor Burke." Castor gave the book a solid handshake before gesturing to a girl with long black hair and almost silver eyes.

"You sister?" Tom asked.

Castor grinned wickedly, "That's my twin brother, Pollux." Tom kept his composure, making a mental note that she was a he; regardless of the overly feminine features. "Gets mistaken for a girl all the time, it's the hair." Tom suspected that was only a part of it.

"Did you figure out who that girl is?" The first year asked, butting in.

"No, but the rest of them don't matter."

"Good attitude," The boy extending his hand, eagerly awaiting a handshake "I'm Magnus Travers," Once satisfied, he squared himself in his seat; pointing at a little girl with bright red hair, a black flower in her hair, he sneered. "My cousin, Aetina Weasley. Her older brother Myles is Head Boy."

"Pleasure."

"Guinevere Fawley." The witch called out, shifting Tom's attention away from his housemates. The name belonged to blond girl, whose hair reminded of the ends of a hot flame. Her eyes, he recalled, were brown; deep and soul consuming. As she walked to the stool, she sat nervously, gripping the edges of the seat as the hat was placed upon her lap.

"Interesting." The hat spoke, humming and hawing.

"What's it doing?" Tom asked his table.

The voice that replied was surprisingly deep, "She's probably a hatstall." Pollux explained, "It means the hat doesn't know which house to put her in."

"Should be ours." Castor grumbled, refusing to look. "Fawley's have always been in Slytherin."

"Maybe she's not pureblood." Pollux offered, and Tom was aware of the distrain attached to the idea.

"It has been 2 minutes." Tom commented, looking at another students watch. "Does that mean anything?"

"Not especially." Magnus stated, "My older sister, Meliae, was a hatstall. She said the house wanted to put her in Ravenclaw or Slytherin."

"Which house did it place her in?"

"Slytherin of course," Pollux sniffed, "Travers are always in Slytherin."

"Meliae would have thrown a fit if she was placed with those barmey blue bastards." Magnus huffed, growing bored of watching the hat deliberate.

"Does it happen often?" Tom inquired, narrowing his eyes to see the girl was moving her lips as the hat talked.

"Almost never." Castor admitted. "I find that the half bloods and mudbloods are more likely to be hatstalls than us."

"Not true." A girl spoke up, lowering her book. "A hatstall has to take longer than 5 minutes. Our Head of House was almost put into Ravenclaw, and he is a pureblood."

"Whatever, Greengrass," Pollux hissed, "-those weren't ever hatstalls."

 _5 minutes_ , Tom thought, glancing at the different tables. Hufflepuff seemed ready to accept her at the drop of a hat, Ravenclaw was willfully not paying attention, and Gryffindor was chanting their house name over and over – like it would sway the decision.

"Ravenclaw!" The hat finally pronounced, making Castor and Pollux jerk up in surprise, while the rest of the Slytherin table booed.

"One of the Sacred Twenty Eight can't be put into Ravenclaw!" Castor howled.

Tom, however, watched the girl get down off the stool and walk calmly to the table. She never looked back, and for the moment –was promptly forgotten.

 _ **Second year**_

Sitting in the front row, Tom was listening as Magnus was gazing harshly at a Hufflepuff girl behind him. "You'd think if her parents can afford to send their child to Hogwarts, they could buy them better robes. Look at her," Magnus sneered, tapping his friend on the shoulder, "It just screams, 'Someone please marry my daughter. I'm not asking for money – I'm literally giving her away.'"

The girl's head snapped up from her potions book and glared at the boy. "If you were trying to impress your friend by that comment," she retorted, "-he wasn't listening."

"How dare you-

"I have more money than your entire family, Travers." She corrected him, fixing a ringlet. "Be sensible, and try to have more pride."

"I think you were out maneuvered, Magnus." Tom said, amused.

"I liked her better when she was antisocial." Magnus muttered, turning to face forward as Slughorn cleared his throat.

"Take your seats now, if you please." Slughorn announced, and everyone sank into similar seats as last year. The door creaked open, causing everyone to turn while Slughorn's eyes lit up. "Late, Miss Fawley? Didn't I say that taking Transfiguration would achieve that end?"

"I won't be late again Professor." Guinevere replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and taking a seat in the back. "Yes well, five points from Ravenclaw nonetheless – though I am sure you will have no trouble making it up." Tom saw her wince as the students jeered, and he smiled at the spectacle – not expecting her to look up when she did. "Face front Tom, you'll never learn how to make a decent potion facing the back." Slughorn corrected him, and Tom internalized the emotions that flooded through his mind as he shifted in his chair. "Now, I have prepared a list of partners for the year; and after I am finished calling them out you can move to your new spots.," The man cleared this throat and put on his glasses, holding up a piece of parchment, "Prewett and Weasley,"

"Hornby and Lestrange."

As he went on, people started to get excited – or anxious.

"Black and Zabini"

"Montgomery and Travers."

Magnus groaned loudly, "I couldn't bare it if my parent's found out."

"Riddle and Fawley."

"Just grin and bare it." Tom replied as Magnus slipped away – Guinevere hesitantly taking the spot to his right.

"Let's get to work, Tom." Was the only greeting she offered, flipping open her potions book.

"You knew my name before I told you." He blurted, catching himself at the end.

"It's not that big a school." She replied softly.

"Usually one waits to be introduced." He replied indignantly, and the girl sighed, but faced him with a pleasant enough expression; waiting. "I'm Tom Riddle, and you are?"

"Guinevere Fawley." She replied, "Pleasure."

"Now then, have you ever made Sleeping Draught before?" Tom asked, flipping to the page for the assignment."

"Almost, have you?"

"Yes." She stared at him for a moment, shock not obvious in her expression, rather she was taking in the calm, cool and calculating demeanor of her new potions partner. He caught her watching him and shrugged, "I'm unpredictable like that."

They worked in silence for the rest of the day, days turning to weeks, weeks turning to months. He didn't expect months to turn into years, nor the strange sense of affection he experienced at the sight of her.

 **Fifth Year**

"Quite the shock, isn't it Tom?" Castor grinned, tapping the shiny new badge.

"Hardly," Pollux drawled, turning a page in his book, "Tom was obviously going to be a prefect."

"Who's with you?" Lestrange asked, leaning against the door of the compartment. "Not Travers, that's for such." The boy grinned, blocking a punch from Magnus as he shuffled into the compartment.

"I think it was Alphard Black." Tom announced, holding a smug grin on his face, leaning away from his friend to let him pass easily.

"I got the scoop on the other prefects," Avery announced, though Tom already knew the information. "Hornby and Fawley for Ravenclaw, Montgomery and Zabini for Hufflepuff, and Prewett and Weasley for Gryffindor."

"I didn't know you cared so much about the Prefects," Tom stated, and Avery blushed. "Or have you still not gotten over your fascination with Tessie Prewett."

"She is not nearly busty enough to hold my attention." Avery retorted, "I like em-"

He stopped as a familiar face appeared in the doorway. "I saw Fawley, you're looking marvelous, delicious even. I've always had a thing for blondes." He grinned wickedly at her blank expression, "Please take your clothes off." Tom shot the boy a dark look, and Avery recanted immediately. "It was just a joke."

Ignoring him, Guinevere motioned to Tom. "Meeting will be starting soon."

"I'll walk with you," He offered, standing to get his robes when a short, black haired girl knocked into Guinevere, pushing her through the doorway and closer to Tom as a result. The girl was a fourth year, and well enough known in the school.

"I told you to be careful Myrtle!" A small boy called.

"Are you alright, Guinevere?" Tom whispered, but his words were drowned out by the conversations of his friends.

"That's what you get for letting undesirables into the school." Lestrange said loudly.

"How dare she touch one of us." Pollux growled angrily.

"Filthy mudblood." Avery hissed.

"They ought to be exterminated." Magnus barked, standing up.

"Disgusting garbage," Castor spat.

Slytherin crowd never let anyone forget it. It made daily interactions with other classmates awkward, if not downright unbearable when she was in the room. Olivia had taken to teasing her, as if to say – we don't accept her either.

Guinevere stepped back from the compartment, from Tom, and moved swiftly away, her face never revealing the horror she felt at hearing that word – feeling his eyes on her.

"How is it that you haven't shagged her yet?" Castor asked Tom, smirking at him. "Been your potions partner for what, three years now?"

"Unlike you, Castor, I am a gentleman." Tom replied, enjoying the banter; though he had heard it before.

"Well if you don't get a move on, someone else will. She's not a bad looking girl, even if she is a Ravenclaw." Castor mused, "And you know the rule."

"What rule would that be?" Tom indulged him, watching him carefully.

"If you ask them first, ninety percent of the time they'll say no." Pollux answered instead, not looking up from his page again.

"You can't possible thinking Tom would be able to convince her to come into him, do you?" Magnus barked, "That's barmy."

Tom couldn't feeling insulted at that statement. _He_ could make anyone do anything he wanted them to. Nothing and no one could resist him. He also was hesitant to admit to himself that he felt at all possessive about Guinevere; they had a special kind of kinship, yet she always took great pains to avoid him. Being a Prefect this year would change that, he would make sure of it. "You know me, I never play by the rules." Slipping out of the compartment, he headed for the Prefect's meeting.

/

Staring at the mirror, she gripped the sides of sink; air unable to leave her lungs. She looked ashen white, her eyes were filled with tears. _Where do I go from here?_ she asked her reflection silently. _What am I to do?_

Myrtle was dead.

It was not just a shock to the school, but to her house. Myrtle was only a year younger. A student in her charge. A fellow Ravenclaw who had been killed. How was she supposed to be an effective Prefect after this tragedy? Olivia was in shock, she hasn't spoken a word in the two days since it had happened; though she sometimes muttered at her own reflection.

But Guinevere couldn't get Tom's face out of her head. The look in his eyes, or more accurately; the lack of one. She had always been wary of the boy; he was too smooth and charismatic, always appearing at the right time or place and never letting his emotions really show.

But she had never been afraid of him before.

Most of the girls thought he had devilish appeal; tall, dark, had allure and was completely unobtainable. A deadly combination. He could charm the pants off a snake if he wanted to, most of the teachers were wrapped around his little finger.

"How dangerous is he?" She finally uttered the question buzzing around her mind for the last three years. But her reflection was silent. "He's a young man with a mean streak, but you'd be able to fill the cells of Askaban with the boys of Slytherin if that was an indicator." She nodded at her reflection, standing up straighter. "He's just a boy like any other."

Gathering her things, she dried her eyes and finally emerged.

"You've been avoiding me." Tom purred, but she didn't jump when she saw him outside the girl's bathroom, casually leaning against the wall; the Prefect's badge shining in the light. No doubt he saw the puffy skin and red around her eyes.

"I was in the bathroom." She replied coolly, heading away from him.

"You've been crying." He observed, and she nodded, noting how the air of his confidence was different; he didn't seem perturbed at all. "We need never be afraid of our tears." Tom offered, meeting her pace. "Did you know her?"

"A little." Guinevere replied, dropping her eyes.

He touched her, and she jumped; he had never touched her before, and it was electrifying. "You are safe, Guinevere, they caught the culprit." Meeting his eyes, Guin found him smiling. "You were always safe with me."

"Do you believe in monsters Tom?" She asked, and he startled visibly for a moment.

"Not particularly, no."

"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents." She whispered, aware of his hand moving to her face, something akin to pleasure gracing his features.

"I completely agree." He whispered back, stepping back as footsteps sounded nearbye. Her heart was beating in her ears while her mind was screaming so loudly she thought her head might burst. "Shall we walk together? We are both in the Slugclub after all." She felt her self nod.

As they walked, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of an obliging window pane, reading the sorrow in her eyes; _The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves._


	2. Seasons

**5\. Ma'at:** Ma'at was the goddess of truth and justice, embodying the essential harmony of the universe. She was depicted as a seated woman wearing an ostrich feather, or sometimes just as the feather itself. Her power regulated the seasons and the movement of the stars. _**Task: In your story, include all four seasons on four different parts. Extra Credit (10 points) for this task!**_

 ** _Gringotts Prompt Bank;_**

 _Great Literature Quotes_

 _"The curves of your lips rewrite history." – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray_

 _"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." – John Steinbeck, East of Eden_

 _"She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world." – Kate Chopin, "The Awakening"_

 _"One must be careful of books, and what's inside them, for words have the power to change us." – Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices_

 _"Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray_

 _Verbs; did, do, hear, said, smile_

 _Nouns; carrot, darkness_

 _270 Title Prompts; Friends With Horns_

 _Various prompts/feelings; Absorbed_

 _Personality types; (combined) dark/conceited/vain, (combined) reserved/studious/keen_

 _Words Instead of said; Answered, asked, beamed, chirped, continued, echoed, growled, huffed, smiled, snorted,_

* * *

 _Summer - First Year_

"Not going home?" He asked, sliding up beside her with utter silence, staring at her with his onyx orbs. They had barely spoken all year, even when they shared classes she never spoke to him. He had been too preoccupied with making connections in his house. But…. her golden head was a moth to a flame.

It couldn't hurt to have her in his pocket too.

"So you see." The reply was curt, her eyes never leaving the groups of children as they marched to the boats. Her golden curls were tied back in a braid that was sloppy – no doubt tied with her own two hands.

His grin spread – he couldn't help it; it was too deliciously easy. There was only a handful of them staying in the castle over the summer months – the permission coming right from the Headmaster's office – and here was the little girl who had managed to avoid him all year long.

He'd almost forgotten about her.

"What's your excuse?" Tom probed, leaning closer – the gently fragrance wafting to his nose as it so often did in potions class. It was rich, and earthy, mixed with a fresh, citrusy shampoo that was unfamiliar to him. "Parents leave you behind?"

She did not utter the satisfactory sigh he expected.

Nor did she huff in irritation.

Roll her eyes.

Shift away.

She just, turned her head, looked at him and spoke. "Bugger off." Turning back to the crowd as it departed, she waved gently as a few of her friends waved back, but Tom didn't care. He'd struck a chord; he knew he must have.

But as she started walking away, slinking into the shadows to which she did not belong, he let the coldness seep into his eyes. All year she had resisted him, always being polite, blunt – or an unsettling mix of the two – but never reacting to his subtle questions or jabs.

And now they had all summer together.

The contemplation made him sneer, when he was strangely welcoming the challenge.

"Hey!" He called, jogging after her – not that she turned a hair, "Let's go to the library, I've been reading up on some of the most fascinating creatures."

"Go away." She stated flatly, and when that did not shake him off, she growled; "Stop pretending, your friends aren't here anymore." Spinning round the corner, she glided away to her dormitory – leaving him slightly startled at the base of the stairs.

* * *

 _Fall - Second Year_

Looking proudly in the mirror, he ran his fingers down the fabric of his newly pressed shirt; a gift – from his professor – in the wake of his growth spurt. Summer wasn't a long period of time, but it was enough to keep his mind sharp and the ideas fresh. Each waking moment he had studied, already finished much of the work they were to cover this year – at least in potions – but he supposed there were more things to be learned in some of his electives.

Today, however, was Thursday; and he had Defence Against the Dark Arts first – and if he could have run away all the way from the dungeon, he would have.

Gryffindor had won the House Cup last year, and he was determined that the cycle not repeat itself.

But he wanted to take a walk first, clear his head.

Pulling on his robes, he nodded to his reflection. He looked smart.

 _I'm turning into Pollux._

Shuddering at the very thought of being to vain, Tom hurried out; he had made an internal goal to be early for everything.

His teachers would adore him by the end of September – if they didn't already.

His mind wad filled with distant thoughts and plans when he caught something pass in his periphery – and he couldn't mistake the smell.

Her hair was down, billowing behind her like her robes as she strode towards their mutual destination, framing her freshly freckled skin with radiance.

 _Focus!_

Looking elsewhere, he enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his face, the red and yellow of the leaves making the dingy old castle seem almost – homey.

The thought made him feel sick.

"Tom, you feeling a bit peckish?" A boy asked, his hair wild around his head like a crazed animal, "You look sorta pale n'… ghoulish, n' stuff."

"Ghastly." Gwen whispered, leaning into the boy – thought he towered over her already. Briefly, and only briefly, did her eyes flicker Tom's way.

"Tat's the word! Ghastly!" The boy nodded, looking at Tom. "You sure you're alright?"

"Fine, thank you Hagrid." Tom answered, smiling when he would rather be glaring at the idiot half breed next to him. "Just stayed indoors too long. Why are you out here Hagrid? Aren't you in Defence Against the Dark Arts with us this morning?"

"I've been work'n with the Professor here to care for the Thestrals." Hagrid explained, proud of his achievement.

"Aren't you in second year?" Tom asked, and the boy shrugged.

"Extra credit where credit's due." Hagrid nodded, moving his great shaggy mane as his did so. "But I'm just show'n Goldilocks here the new Hippogriff family the Professor is so keen on – as she is to be studying it this year."

Tom tilted his head, eyeing Gwen carefully as a thought struck him _She's taking a third year class? Is that what she was doing this summer?_

"Anyway, we best be goin, don't want to keep the Professor waiting." Clapping his large hairy paw on Tom's shoulder, the half breed grinned before continuing his walk with the Ravenclaw girl.

Even the bright pattern of the leaves couldn't dispel the foul mood growing in him as he hurried made his way to the classroom.

 _She won't best me._

 _She won't._

* * *

 _Winter – Second Year_

She was stretching, her fingers reaching for the ceiling – her eyes no doubt shut tightly. She was like a cat in the sunlight – or firelight in this case – since it was the only warmth offered in the midst of the worst blizzard Hogwarts had seen in the last five decades.

Even the snowflakes were unsympathetic to the student's plight.

But _Goldilocks_ seemed un-phased, and unwilling to let him call her by any name that wasn't strictly her own.

"Charming cessations, bit early is it not?" He asked, placing the plate of food in front of her – a smile briefly flirting with his sense of achievement, as it disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. "How very un-clawlike of you."

"Your assumptions will be your downfall Tom," Gwen replied, fluffing her hair as he sat beside her "I finished the formula ages ago while you were pretending _not_ to be reading the Daily Prophet."

He snorted before he could catch himself, but he enjoyed the flicker of amusement in her eyes that arose from it. "I do _not_ read that trash-

"Admit it Tom, you are a gossip. Brilliant you may be, but you are as common as the rest of us; enjoying a good dose of the sappy romance and tantalizing disaster." She chirped, sliding the parchment over before picking up the toast from the plate.

"I enjoy no such thing," he denied, sipping the cup of hot cocoa they had been serving in the Hall. "You need your eyes checked Fawley."

"Mph" Gwen chomped happily on a carrot as her partner looked over her work. "You don't have to be perfect Tom."

"What else is there to be?" He questioned, honestly curious.

"Well perfection is boring," She answered plainly. "And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." She seemed happy with that deduction, taking another bite of her carrot.

"Which means what? Reading more often?" He huffed, "One must be careful of books, and what's inside them, for words have the power to change us" Was her articulate answer, to which silence met - disappointingly.

So naturally he went over her answers in his hand, and her words within the confines of his mind.

"You are aware you are completely wasted in Ravenclaw." Tom reflected honestly, and Gwen frowned instantly at the remark. "Slytherin would have been significantly enhanced." Gwen was silent, staring at her plate as he continued. "You and Travers would have gotten along splendidly, as it stands you could best him in DADA and Charms-'

"I'm not a Slytherin, Tom." Her voice held a sharpness to it that he had not heard since the summer.

"Semantics-

"I refused it." Gwen clarified, crossing her arms tightly against her chest.

Tom blinked at her, tilting his head as he often did when he was thinking. "What ever for?"

"Because you have rose coloured glasses on, and I do not." Gwen replied, picking up her quill and turning to the second set of formulas to her right.

"Just what does that mean?"

"Figure it out, prodigy." Came her cold reply, the back of her head moving into his sight as he smirked at her.

"Is that supposed to mean something, _Goldilock_ s?" He questioned sipping his hot cocoa, waiting for her to react.

He would be waiting a long time.

* * *

 _Spring – Second Year_

The smell of rain seemed to creep through the cracks of the stones, leaving a heavy wet musk to settle on them as they dragged themselves to their first class that Thursday morning.

"Did you hear?" Students were saying, their words bombarding him – and his slicing headache. "There's to be a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"What happened to the old one?"

"Tangled with a dragon," The Weasley girl was saying. "I bet it was a horntail."

"Everyone knows it's the shortsnout that's really dangerous." Prewett was arguing.

"I heard," Magnus whispered, creeping behind them like a ghost, his fingers crawling up over their shoulders. "That he was caught torturing a student – her screams still echo throughout the third floor-

"That is quite enough young Travers." A deep voice cut in, tapping the front desk with his wand. Tom was struck with how young he was. Dark curly locks hung as so to just touch the tops of his ears, set against slightly tanned skin matched with a haunting set of blue eyes watching them all. "To your seat."

"Nowadays people know the price of everything and value nothing." Magnus muttered, walking over and slumping in his seat.

"Does anything you say make sense?" Zabini asked, scrunching up his nose at his seat mate.

"Shut up Puff, what do you know?"

"The curves of your lips rewrite history." Zabini chirped, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

"Five points from Slytherin for being needlessly insulting, and five from Hufflepuff for the lacklustre comeback." The professor said, eyeing the boy as a groan was loudly omitted. "Now, shall we begin?" Immediately a hand shot up, and Tom chuckled as Olive Hornby was wiggling her fingers in excitement. "Miss Hornby."

The girl let out a heavy breath as she asked her question, "Is it true you studied mermaids off the Grecian islands?"

"It is true," The tall young man replied, "However that has no bearing on our class material, and I shall ask all of you to refrain from asking personal questions during class time." The wave of sighs that moved through the room was as amusing as it was disgusting. "Now, I know this is unprecedented, but I shall be your instructor for the remainder of the term – and for the next few years – Merlin willing. You may call me Professor de Luc-'

The door opened slowly, and a tumble of familiar blond curls fell across the person's shoulders as she stepped in – though she was dripping from the deluge.

"Either you are in or your out." De Luc growled, and Gwen moved in rapidly, shutting the door softly before stepping quickly to the front of the class with her hand extended with a shockingly dry note. The man snapped it up, his eyes scanning the words until he was certain of it's authenticity. "The hippogriffs frequently get into the garden, do they?"

"Not if the gate is shut properly." Gwen replied honestly, and Tom smiled at the sharpness of her tone.

De Luc didn't find it nearly as amusing. Taking out his wand, he muttered something and the girl was dry in an instant. "Don't drip in my classroom again, is that clear?" Gwen nodded turning to sit by Alistair Montgomery. "You may sit there, by Riddle." De Luc instructed, pausing when she did not move. "Are you hard of hearing?"

"Not at all." Gwen replied, "I was simply waiting for you to say please." The chorus of giggles drowned out the 10 points she lost for being cheeky and the five points she lost for sitting by Montgomery.

"She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world." Tom whispered, pleased to think that he might have had this effect on her. When she looked glanced over his way - he smiled - he didn't like this fool either, and this emotion staring was perhaps - pride? He couldn't help smiling at the thought of it.

To his surprise, and delight, she smiled back.


	3. Slumming It

**Time Period Task:** Write about the childhood and/or adolescence of Tom Riddle. Alternatively, write about an incident that occurs during the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

Homographs; house, read, sign, refuse, wound

Karl Pilkington Quotes; "Stop looking at the walls, look out of the window."

Feelings and emotions; satisfied, clever, intrigued,

Single word prompts: descriptors; responded, whispered, snickered, rushed, staggered, shuffled, gazed at, noticed, striking, fair,

Vampire diaries; "I think the witch screwed up that part of the hocus pocus." – _Anna,_ "This would be so much more fun if we were naked." _\- Damon Salvatore,_ "I'm too smart to be seduced by you." / "That's why I like you." _\- Caroline & Klaus_

OC Name Prompts; **Elyan** \- Arthurian Legend, **Aurai** \- Greek Mythology: Nymphs of the cooling breeze,

Secret Diary of a Call Girl; (word) Angel, (dialogue) "I charge by the hour, and I charge a lot." (plot/action) Receiving an uncomfortable, painful shoulder rub, (dialogue) "By the way he's touching her hip, they're lovers." (word) Threesome

OC Name Prompts (randomly generated); William Stewart, Erich Henlein, Sébastien Halliet, Porcelain Talbot, Odessa Brack

* * *

The common room was somewhat crowded when he got back from the library, though it was mainly older students from his house, he had little wish to stay and speak to them. De Luc, whose first name still eluded him after all these weeks, had told the class to write an essay on vampires that was neither clique or expected. An interesting challenge, but one that required some books from the restricted section.

"Evening Tom!" Castor grinned as he raised his hand, beckoning the younger boy over. Castor seemed to become more and more like the Greek God he was named after. Newly named as Captain of the Quidditch Team, he attracted even more attention than his brother – who was reading silently on a chase nearby. "How was the library?"

"Crowded." Tom replied wearily, glancing at a few of the older girls and boy whom he had never had much time to meet. They were friendly enough, he supposed, but altogether too transparent. "Having a party?" He kept his voice soft and smooth, brandishing a smile and a twinkle in his eyes – one that had even fooled that old fool of a wizard.

"I wish." The tall willowy brunette who answered stepped around the back of the couch, flipping her long straight hair over her shoulder, name was Aurai Rosier. If there was ever a nymph in the world, she could easily be one. "This would be so much more fun if we were naked."

Tom stifled a groan, and the urge to hex her, and merely narrowed his eyes at the tall grey eyed girl. "Why is it that you associate a party with sex?"

"Because she's a sex god." Elyan Burke snickered, pouring himself -like a cat into a jar- onto the couch while other around him chuckled. Tom did not find the humor in the statement; God's- real gods- didn't need physical gratification.

Aurai, on the other hand, closed the distance between herself and Elyan easily; only to bring their faces inches apart. "I charge by the hour, and I charge… _a lot_." She whispered, a wicked grin appearing on her lips as the others fell silent. "You couldn't afford me." As she moved away, the rest of the room erupted in laughter – a humor which, once again, Tom didn't care to understand.

Feeling an soft hand on his side, Tom turned to meet the fresh face of Porcelian Talbot – a living doll if ever he had seen one. She had a skin condition that did not allow her outside in the sunshine much, unless she carried a parasol – which she was reluctant to. She was striking, though, with fair skin and black curly hair, usually covered with a lace mess that was her grandmother's. Her dresses were usually long and white, lack crawling over her skin as if had been molded to her.

She was straight of the 1800's.

"She's not so bad," The girl whispered. "Angel's just….aware of her femininity. She's one of the nicest girls in the dorm."

"Except she is continually talking about coitus." Tom replied, watching as more people shuffled into the common room.

"Ah, well, nasty rumor in our third year is to thank for that." Porcelain explained, "She had been dating that slug William Stewart, you know, Captain of the Gryffindor team last year?" Tom nodded – everyone knew him. He was a worm. "After she refused to date him, he sent some wild rumors flying about her being…less than a lady. But, being the goddess she is, she went with it. Besides, it ended up not being so bad."

"In what way?"

"She and Elyan are dating." Porcelain replied, a soft smile of pleasure lighting up her face.

"They do not look it." Tom pondered, seeing no inclinations of affection between them and the girl beside him giggled.

"Sometimes you have to look beyond the surface," Porcelain gestured ever so slightly. "See there? By the way he's touching her hip, their lovers."

Tom didn't see anything to indicate that.

In fact he didn't see anything worth looking at.

"Oy!" Erich Henlen barked, "What nonsense are you tell Tom, P?" Erich was, perhaps, one of the loudest members of the house. However, it did not suit his nature. In truth, he was one of the more refined young men within the house. Five years older than Tom, Erich had known Porcelan most of her life – and was dedicated as a friend and mentor. Also a proud member of the choir – a talented violinist on top of everything else – Erich actually came from a long line of composers. Which is why people could over look the fact he was a gangly, pimple faced teenager.

That – and he had a wicked dueling record.

"It's not nonsense at all." She retorted. "It's educational."

"Ah, _the_ talk." Erich nodded, looking over at Castor. "I remember those days. Such sweet innocence."

Tom scoffed, smiling as Sébastien Halliet – the sixth year prefect – came up behind the musician and squeezed his shoulders hard. "This coming from the boy who has never had a threesome." The prefect was from France, and though he carried no accent anymore– his beautiful blond locks and dark blue eyes made him hard to resist. If you were female – that is.

Tom found him repulsive.

"Shove off Sébastien, not all of us can attract girls at the drop of a hat." Erich growled, trying to rid himself of the older boy's hands. "Or seduce them with a ride on your broomstick."

"What do you think P?" Sébastien asked, winking at the girl. "Am I a seducer?"

The cold smile she gave him even gave Tom chills. "I'm too smart to be seduced by you."

Laughing heartily, Sébastien tightened his grip on Erich's shoulders. "That's why I like you. Even if you wound me."

The smell of jealousy wafted out from the Prefect like a bad fish.

"You're just fine." Erich huffed – giving in to the tortuous shoulder rub that his house mate was giving him. "Why don't you fly on out and dodge a bludger."

"Come on now," Castor called out, breaking up the swarm that had formed around Tom – like birds to a feeder. "Leave the poor lad alone, can't you see that he is too pure for the rest of us meager mortals to live up to."

"What does that even mean?" Odessa Brack asked, looking up from whatever Aurai had been showing her.

"He means that Tom is not interested in girls." Pollux spoke, his deep voice resonating from the chase.

"Give him two years," Odessa grinned, "We will see."

"How 'bout it Tom." Sébastien queried, "Anyone catch your fancy?"

"I don't see the point." Tom answered easily, "It doesn't serve much purpose."

 _Any_ purpose.

"So you've never even stared at a girl?" Erich asked, wincing as the shoulder rub continued.

"Not even Fawley?" Aurai asked, startling them. As Tom gazed at the beautiful creature, he felt…. "Oh come on Tom," The fifth year rushed, "You really think we haven't seen your little library rendezvous?"

 _Frustration._

"They study, angel." Porcelian defended the boy. "In public as it so happens."

 _Anger._

"Lots of things can be done in public P." Auari smirked, running her eyes up and down Tom like he was meat hanging on a rack. "Tom's no better than the rest of us."

 _Disgust._

"Who?" Castor inquired, searching the faces of the room to find the person who matched the name.

"The Ravenclaw." Pollux reminded him, "The _hatstall_."

"Oh, ha!" Castor barked, "Goldilocks!"

"Don't call her that." Tom snarled, catching the group off guard. Changing his tone and expression, he continued. "That…half breed calls her that."

"The giant?" Sébastien asked, scrunching up his nose. "She's friends with it."

"It believe it is more…" Tom calculated the words. "One sided."

"Poor thing," Aurai stated, "Imagine being followed by that….thing."

"You never answered the question Tom," Pollux mused, eyeing his younger house mate with knowing eyes. "Don't you like her?"

"She's my potion's partner." Tom said flatly, moving past the rest of the crowd. "I barely know her."

"Just you wait, Tom Riddle," Castor grinned, walking beside the boy and slinging an arm over Tom's shoulders. "In a few years, you'll change your tune."

He smiled, but stayed silent, walking to his bed. Dropping his books onto the bed, he clenched his fingers – making a fist.

How _dare_ they.

 _How dare_ they.

As if he was made of the same kind of metal that those other fools were.

As if he fell prey to the desires of the flesh.

 _How dare they._

He was Tom M. Riddle – not some hussy.

And he would _never_ stop so low as to even bring Gwen's name into the conversation.

She would never be associated with such…ludicrous activities.

 _How. Dare. They._

A knock moved his attention out of the storm that were was rolling in his head. "Coming to dinner?" Magnus asked, leaning in the doorway. "Don't worry, we won't sit with those idiots."

"Perhaps later," Tom replied, a hiss rising in his throat. "I meet you there."

"I'll save you a seat." Magnus nodded, retreating as Tom felt the blood start to drip down his skin.

He still had 5 years to go.

By then... _I'll own the school_.


	4. What is Love?

**Gringotts Prompt Bank;**

Poem Bank

Eye contact is way more intimate than words will ever be

"I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in our chest when all you want to do is be with someone"

"The moon reminds me of you. So beautiful, so bright and so far away."

Miranda

(word) Shock

Alliterating phrases

Fickle Finger of Fate'

'Right as Rain'

Vocab (figure of speech)

head over heels

Feelings and Emotions

Sympathetic

Interested

Playful

Impulsive

Quiet

Affectionate

Irritated

Annoyed

Powerless

Doubtful

Uncertain

Hesitant

Uneasy

Alarmed

Frightened

Words instead of Said

Blurted

Babbled

Chuckled

Coaxed

Murmured

Noted

 **Task:** To be more specific, the bulk of your story must contain characters discussing or testing out the differences between Potions and Alchemy. Perhaps a character takes Alchemy very seriously, and another does not think it is a necessary subject? It's up to you how you explain the difference, so long as the difference is clearly portrayed.

* * *

As he sat, much where he always did in the Library, he felt the hair on his neck bristling, indicating _she_ was there. Things between them had been so cold of late, he did not quite know why. It simply was not like her, it wasn't like her at all. But the sight of her long blond hair made him at ease, but he was still not used to the cold in her usually warm brown eyes. Turning, Tom extended his hand as she passed, touching her arm gently. "Gwen-"

She stared at him rather oddly, as if his touch was burning through her robe. "Yes Tom?"

"Aren't you going to sit with me?" he asked, tilting his head as a calm smile spread on his face, watching her carefully; hoping for any glimmer of expression. "It's our time for Potions."

"Oh." Guinevere pursed her lips thoughtfully, not that he bought it; she was being far too obvious. "I already finished Slughorn's assignment for the week, Tom."

"Does your superb ability to finish assignments prevent you from appearing with me in public?" he queried, visibly annoyed as other students were looking in their general direction. His fault, he supposed, for raising his voice.

"I have other things to do." Gwen stated firmly, watching as his eyes flickered to the book in her hand.

"Alchemy? You're avoiding me for Alchemy." he blurted, between the aghast feeling rushing through his prefrontal cortex.

"What's wrong with Alchemy?" she retorted, her lips forming a line.

"It is a cheap man's poison." Tom smiled, pulling on her arm; trying to move her towards the chair.

"Merlin didn't think so." Gwen hissed, jerking her arm away. "At least my head isn't stuck in a Cauldron."

"You don't like potions?" he began, hearing the surprise in his voice as he watched her struggle with what to say. She couldn't deny her enjoyment of the art that was potion making, he had far too often been mesmerized by the sparkle in her eyes.

"Anyone can brew a potion." Gwen huffed, looking away.

"That's a weak come back, as you are well aware." he chuckled, once again grasping her elbow; finding she wouldn't budge. "What is so ensnaring about Alchemy?" he coaxed, gesturing to the chair beside him. "Tell me Guinevere."

He was bothered by her hesitation, for it was abundantly clear; she shifted her gaze around the library as if looking for a means for escape, pursed her lips as if she was making a decision and then, eventually, she sat down. Absentmindedly he tucked a strand of blond curls behind her ear, an act he had done several times in his head; but never within the bounds of reality.

Blushing apologetically, Tom put his hands on his lap; indicating he was ready.

"Well, Alchemy isn't offered to anyone you know," she started, aware of the heat on her own face at the intimacy of his gesture.

"Just crackpots." Tom teased playfully, obtaining a characteristic glare from her.

"Those _crackpots_ made it possible for things like the Philosopher's Stone to be created. The essen-"

"The Stone's a myth, everyone knows that." Tom knew the second the words left his lips that she wouldn't believe him. It was in the way she looked at him, he knew, for she saw through every wall he had ever built. When he had asked his Professors about it, they had all basically said the same thing, ' _Eye contact is way more intimate than words will ever be'_ ; only one had suggested that they might both have the power to become a legitimens. The thought of what it meant made him smile aware of her intense gaze. He loved her, an emotion he had not thought possible; he assumed it was love because in the absence of words to describe his feelings, it seems the most logical thing. The summer apart had given much time to think on the subject, and he had concluded that he must be head over heels.

"Stop lying, Tom." she murmured, a tiny shred of despair in her eyes before she chased it away. "Anyway, the blueprints on how to create the Stone are quite simple once you find the spiritual peace and enlightenment to do so."

"Sounds like a lot of nonsense," Tom mused, leaning back in his chair. "To be quite frank it sounds like something Dumbledore would spout."

"He'd be right." Gwen was quick to defend the man, who had become her mentor of sorts. "While the main aim in the muggle world was to find purification for objects, muggles also had some things right. They believed that it was perfection, and the act of perfecting the figure and soul, was the attainment of gnosis. Early magicians steered muggles away from true alchemic practice by blinding them with the notion that it is contingent on metals-"

"I have very littler interest in Alchemy precisely because muggles have anything to do with it." Tom hissed, crossing his arms and letting his mask fall in a moment of temporary weakness.

"That's very narrow minded of you," she replied softly, looking down at her book with a sad expression.

"It's not like they are worth anything." Tom stated curtly. "Take potions, for example." he turned back to her and leaned in, touching her hands as if he was passing on a secret. "There is always an equal reaction to whatever is created. The rules of potions often reflect the rules of chemistry," Quickly trying to think of a reason why he would know the muggle science. "or so I have heard."

"Golpalott's Third Law, I am familiar." Gwen noted blandly.

"Or what about Draught of the Living Death?" Tom continued. "One doesn't need some mystical hoo-doo to enhance the "spiritual experience". No, it is skill. Real skill that will produce the potion, as it is one of the hardest potions to create." Shaking his head as if it he was disgusted, Tom sighed. "Potions is clearly the superior of the two."

"Not everything is about being superior to something." Gwen replied curtly, "The sooner you find that out the better." Standing and moving quickly away from him to the back of the library, where her mask could drop for a moment.

Tom, left sitting in his spot, was rather stunned. Following her lead, he walked the same path she did; coming to find her in one of the more secluded isles of books. "Guinevere." he whispered, coming up behind her softly. "Do you hate me? Since the moment you arrived, following the summer, you have been so distant, so…unlike yourself." Her shoulders were slumped, her hand resting against the binding of a book with lackluster energy, and yet she remained content in the silence. "Gwen-"

"I don't hate you, but I am done investing my time in you." she whispered, not glancing back nor looking forward. "I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in our chest when all you want to do is be with someone."

Stepping forward, he risked placing his hands on both her shoulders. "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

"Have you hit your head or something?" Gwen uttered, not believing the words he had just uttered.

Considering this for a moment, he tried again. "The moon reminds me of you. So beautiful, so bright and so far away."

"Tom, you're scaring me." She said, turning to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's not pretend that we are really discussing the differences in class material," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek, watching as tears began to well in her eyes. Tears he did not understand. "What have I done to make you so afraid? I can bare many things, but not this. You and I are not akin to potions or alchemy, Guinevere. We are equals, we have always been so."

The shock of his touch, the familiar electricity, was nothing like the way his words snaked around his tongue; spinning lies and other tall tales. Now, in this moment, she could not see a single part of him that was insincere. Whatever he may be, or was going to become, he truly believed what he was saying. Oh how the fickle finger of fate had turned.

"I don't hate you." She babbled, feeling increasingly uneasy as he stepped closer.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he purred, holding her face as he leaned in; close enough for her to smell the strangely captivating mixture of lavender and pine needles.

"You won't like my answer." she whimpered, hearing the sound of her own heart in her ears above everything else, knowing she wouldn't have the courage to say it. Perhaps one day she might muster the strength to accuse him of the crime that still haunted her. How the empty, glassy, look in the eyes of the dead witch on the bathroom floor was mirrored with his dark orbs that were far more terrifying than any spell she could utter.

 _You don't know how to love,_ she thought miserably.

"Guinevere?" A voice interrupted, and the two split apart like the red sea; Gwen had never been so glad to see Tessie Prewett in all her life. "You ready? The gang is waiting on baited breath for you to show them the patronus."

"You can produce a patronus?" Tom asked, rather incredulously.

"She can, how else do you think she got a more than perfect score on her OWL's at the end of last year?" Tessie replied, tilting her head so that her long red curls fell over her shoulder.

"What was it of?" Tom inquired gently, he would never admit it to anyone; but he could not produce a patronus no matter how hard he tried.

"A phoenix." Gwen replied, pulling the alchemy book off the shelf; hurrying quickly to the door.


	5. Final - AU!

**Task:** Write about someone trying to make something disappear, without the help of magic, of course.

Muggle Serial killer AU!

* * *

 _Cause I can't make you love me_

 _If you don't,_

 _You can't make your heart feel_

 _Something it won't,_

 _Here in the dark,_

 _These final hours_

 _I will lay down my heart_

 _And I feel the power_

 _But you don't,_

 _No you don't_

The skin of her neck was so soft, so tender – so black and blue. Her pale, pale lips were parted as she struggled for breath. Those freckles he had once sought to connect with is fingers now were still. They would never fade again. More than that, her eyes; those dark, chocolate irises that were staring at him in delirious fear.

Soon, never to blink him away again.

He might have even said she was pretty, once, when he was a different person. She was exquisite. After all he had intended her to be the first and now, six women later, here they were.

They had gone to school together since primary, though they had not been friends. Still, he had been quite aware of her.

Where he had been angry, she had been kind.

Where he had lost, she had won.

They were rivals, regardless if either of them knew it.

High school had come, and suddenly; she had not seemed so bad.

Long blond hair, a pretty smile, and grades to rival his own; they had spent more time studying together than hating one another.

But again and again she had refused him.

Not today.

* * *

"Gwen, you in there?" A voice came from the other side of the door as a fist pounded on the door. "I heard screams, so I called the police." He glanced down at her, moving his hand from her throat, she was watching him; judging him. "Gwen? Did you hear me? I have called the police. I saw that guy, Tom, hanging around last night – and I know about the restraining order so I figured…"

The person kept talking while he felt the water rising around him.

 _I have to get rid of the body_ , he thought hurriedly, _but not like the others._

She did not deserve the same, watery, grave the others had received.

Picking her up gently, he cradled her in his arms – she smelt of her shampoo, her damp hair clinging to her face.

Heading for the back door he nudged, the way he had come in, it with his hip; making it swing backwards and _thunk_ against the siding. He barely made any noise as he carried her down the back stairs, headed for the gate that connected the rest of the fence together.

As the sun filtered down, brushing against her skin, he froze as the sound of sirens became louder.

They would not take her away.

Rushing to the gate, he pushed it open, looking both ways before stepping out and pulling the door to his four door Ford Fiesta open; placing her inside gently. Covering her with the prepared blanket, he made sure she was secure before stepping around to the driver's seat. Turning it on, he knew he was lucky that the alley had two entrances.

He was able to skirt around the police.

He was able to skirt around the blockades set up within the city.

The road was long, half a city apart, but he was finally able to bring her – here – to her final resting place.

The house was Victorian and was barely maintained, but the cellar was cold, damp; the perfect hiding place.

 _Turn down the lights,_

 _Turn down the bed,_

 _Turn down these voices,_

 _Inside my head_

 _Lay down with me,_

 _Tell me no lies,_

 _Just hold me close,_

 _Don't patronize me_


	6. The White Rabbit

Year Four

* * *

 _To fly is freedom._

* * *

She knew she should have never let herself be riled up by that…..twit – but there was no way she would back down from a challenge.

Even if he was a year older, with a cheeky grin and bouncing blue eyes, he shouldn't have dared her – he knew she would follow through.

"G, this is silly," Tessie Prewet stated, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced around. "You know animagus should be registered."

"What is there to tell?" she asked, peeling off the robe – letting it fall crumbled on the ground. "That stupid boy won't admit to being beaton."

"What do you get, anyway," Tessie asked, "-if you win?"

"Uh," Gwen paused, her fingers hovering over one of the buttons on her white shirt, a blush rising on her features. "Well."

Tessie, however, knew that look. "Merlin," she hissed, "He hasn't asked out you has he?"

"No." Gwen huffed, "Quite the opposite. If he wins - meaning I can't transform myself into an animal of some sort – I have to be his girlfriend for a day or two-"

"With Potter?" Tessie sniffed, crossing her arms. "I don't think he knows what _days_ are G. He counts nights. You know, skirts."

"I know the expression." Gwen chuckled, removing her shirt to reveal a tank top.

"And if you win?" Tessie repeated.

"That's the brilliant part," Gwen giggled, something most people didn't hear often from the would be rival of Riddle. "He agreed to be my slave for a day."

"And that is important _because_?" Tessie scratched her head, yawning at the same time.

"Potter. Perfect, Prefect Potter – my slave for the day. Carrying my books, following me around; it's bloody brilliant." Gwen grinned, letting her skirt fall to the way side.

"I don't understand it," Tessie admitted, "Doesn't Tom follow you around?"

Gwen froze, looking at her toes as she wiggled them in her socks. "Yes."

"So why are you blushing about getting Potter's attention?" she asked, shifting again in the chill of the night air. "You have To-"

"I don't want Tom." Gwen snapped, curling her fingers into a ball. "He's not right, Tessie. He's too charming, too popular – and all together too cold hearted. It's not a crime to want a lad interested in me, I'm 15."

"But he is-"

"Have you kissed anyone?" Gwen asked abruptly, shivering in the cold.

"Er, well, yes. Not that it went anywhere." Tessie admitted.

"Yes, but it is the 20th century." Gwen stretched her arms up, impatient. "I want someone to look at me the way that Alistair looks at you."

"How did you?" Tessie gaped, before rolling her eyes. "Bloody hell, freaking Ravenclaws." she smiled at her friend, shaking her head at the absurdity of the whole thing. "Any who, what does this have to do with the fool, Potter? Can't you just ask Tom to kiss you?"

"Tom, kiss?" she laughed mirthlessly, "Tom doesn't _do_ kissing. In fact he doesn't do much of anything, besides talk about how muggle borns are the bane of the earth." Shaking her head, Gwen removed the negatively from her mind. "As for Potter, it doesn't," she replied, turning to face away from her friend. "He just happened to choose me to be the brunt of a bet."

"He'll lose." Tessie whispered.

"And be my slave for a day." Gwen grinned triumphantly, before focusing her energy on what she had been practicing for all month.

It felt like her stomach was twisting and moving – like one of those balloon animals created by clowns at a fair.

Her limps didn't pop or snap like she expected them too.

Her eyes were different, though she couldn't say exactly how – although Tessie was wearing a terrified expression.

She wanted to say something, but was suddenly very aware of the smells of the nearby vegetation.

Her nose was twitching.

Her ears felt long and heavy.

She had a _tail._ A short, fluffy, feeling tale.

Along with a strange craving for carrots.

 _Oh my god_ , she thought horribly, _I'm a rabbit._

* * *

The girls were laughing, barely containing themselves as they gathered Gwen's clothes; unaware of the pair of eyes watching them.

Having a rabbit as her animagi form was somewhat amusing, he concluded.

He had known she had been acting strangely all month, never opening her mouth to speak in class. He had not guessed she had been holding a mandrake root under her tongue the entire time.

When he had, by chance, seen the two sneaking out of the school – he had followed; at a safe distance.

Never would he have suspected her to be the kind of her girl who wanted to be noticed by a boy – let alone breaking the rules to win a bet with a _Gryffindor_.

Though, Tom admitted to himself, he was impressed with her – for making the transformation.

He was slightly perturbed at her opinion of him, how much she believed him to uncaring. He had strived to make everyone like him for so long, it had not occurred to him that someone had not taken the bait.

Stepping out of the brush, watching her as she haphazardly was getting back into the castle, Tom smirked.

If all it took, to have Gwen in his corner, was a few compliments and a possible kiss – he could manage that.

He would win.

After all, he always got what he wanted.

* * *

 _Too bad I wasn't given wings._


	7. Rabbit in a Snowstorm

**Task #2:** In the three-rune cast, the drawn runes can be read two ways. Write about a two-faced character.

Gringotts Prompt Bank:

 **Daredevil**

Rabbit In A Snowstorm

Dialogue: Josie: [to Karen] You could do so much better, love.

Dialogue: Vanessa Marianna: People always ask me how can we charge so much for what amounts to gradations of white. I tell them it's not about the artist's name or the skill required, not even about the art itself. All that matters is "How does it make you feel?" / Wilson Fisk: It makes me feel alone.

 **Alice in Wonderland**

Dialogue] "But you're not properly dressed."

[Dialogue] "Is it not better to be feared than loved?"

[Dialogue] "And who is this lovely creature?"

[Dialogue] "Nothing's ever accomplished with tears!"

 **The last present**

"I don't make the rules." / "Then who does?"

 **New girl**

(dialogue) "I spent six years trying to figure you out, but all you are is a guy with really beautiful hair."

 **Mother daughter book club**

"Don't touch my things."

"You're not happy to get a letter?"

"Look, I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Apology accepted."

* * *

He hated the smells of Christmas, but even the season of pine needles, pumpkin pie, apple, nutmeg, cloves, and baked ham; was not as disagreeable to him as the smells of fall.

Fall came with the return of students to the school, just as he was returning to be Head Boy for his final year, their bag packed with scented cinnamon love potions – or candles – ready to go.

Then there was ginger.

Frankincense.

Oranges, why anyone found it to be associate with Fall was beyond him.

Sandalwood, fused with herbs.

The smell of a freshly crackling fire – he didn't mind so much; when it wasn't being bottled and sold as part of some underground ring within the school.

Any number of these potion ingredients were suddenly used in perfumes, aftershaves, hanging room decorators – as if normal people had suddenly lost sight of why these plants existed to be used in the first place.

Then he had to deal with those students who believed sunflowers to be the best flower in the whole world. People with moon earnings and moon rings.

Already he had seen – and confiscated - more items related to the typical fall than the year before.

The sound of the door opening startled him briefly, and he looked over and smiled. "Gwen, I was wondering where you were." His eyes trailed over her body, adding oversized muggle-styled sweaters to his list of fall things he hated, leaning in. "What's wrong?"

She said nothing as she placed her bag on the seat across from him, dark circles under her eyes and visible tear stains on her cheeks that she was trying to hide. "Have you called the meeting yet?" she asked, her voice was flat – as is she wasn't excited to be Head Girl alongside him.

"No," he replied, standing, getting closer to her. "But you aren't properly dressed."

"Thanks for stating the obvious." She snapped, pulling her robes from her bag.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he felt the electricity run through them both, he tightened his grip.

All this waiting, planning; plotting – here they were.

Head Boy.

Head Girl.

He could not figure out why she looked so terribly sad. "Nothing's ever accomplished with tears." He whispered, eyeing a stack of letters in her bag, reach down.

"Don't touch my things," Gwen hissed, moving her shoulders to loosen his grip, sniffling. "Nothing is ever accomplished with tears! You really are heartless Tom."

There it was again, this side of her he didn't understand – the part of her he couldn't reach.

"Look," he cooed, "I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what else to say."

She thought for a moment, turning her head to study him, meeting those dark eyes carefully. "Apology accepted." She said finally, closing her bag.

He smiled, touching her hair in an overly familiar way, leaning on the window. "You're not happy to get a letter?"

Gwen shook her head, trying to suppress the tears as they rose up; he wouldn't understand. How could he? Tom didn't know, couldn't know, what it was like to have your family disappear to a madman like Hitler.

To have all your letters be returned because your family didn't exist anymore.

"Are they from a boy?" Tom asked, and Gwen's head snapped up.

"What?"

"You do have a boyfriend, don't you?" he purred, raising an eyebrow as she swatted away his hand. "You could do so much better, love."

"That is none of your business," Gwen stated coldly, shaking her head at him, trying to shake this new understanding. "I spent six years trying to figure you out, but all you are is a guy with really beautiful hair."

Tom laughed, feeling his angry coiling around his stomach like a boa constrictor, gripping her shoulder once more. "But you do care for me Gwen, I can see it. Why fight it? Who cares what the world sees in me, or what they think of my hair? Is it not better to be feared than loved?"

"No." Gwen replied, startling him for a moment. "But then again," she took a breath, knowing she was trapped – with someone whose mask was too well made for anyone else to see through. "I don't make the rules."

Leaning in, he asked, "Then who does?"

A knock came at their compartment, the door sliding open a moment later. "Hello Tom," Edmund Potter dipped his chin to Tom's presence, turning his eyes quickly to Gwen. "And who is this lovely creature?"

"Potter." Tom smiled, letting Gwen go, noticing how she recoiled to the door. "Something you need?"

"I need to steal Gwen," Edmund said. "Just for a moment. Girl issue in coach seven."

"Of course." Gwen nodded, taking her robes with her, not turning back.

As he watched, Tom felt the levels of his distaste rising at an alarming rate.

She always shied away from him, even when he chose to comfort her, even when he made it clear that he chose her to be his companion – his friend.

 _I hate fall,_ he thought again, _I hate it._

* * *

Gwen moved down the corridor, tucking into compartment thirteen with Edmund and burst into tears at seeing Tessie.

"Gwen," Tessie jumped up. "Are you alright? We've heard the most terrible things, but we can't believe it's happening."

"They just disappeared," Gwen managed through her tears, her shoulders shaking, "My letters were barely getting through for a while, but all of last year they were returned."

"I brought you this," Edmund said softly, handing her a package. It was a painting. "People always ask me how can we charge so much for what amounts to gradations of white. I tell them it's not about the artist's name or the skill required, not even about the art itself. All that matters is 'How does it make you feel?'"

Gwen bit her lip, thinking it was somehow fitting. "It makes me feel alone."


End file.
